Bawdy!

"Careful now sir," Mr. Lemon reported, "if she suspects that you're talking about her, you'll most certainly drive her to arousal."

"Agreed," was the reply of the president, "her panties'll shoot down her legs like a rainsoaked flag against a window. And no one needs to see that."

"Yes, sir." Mr. Lemon sighed. "But please, such language, you must --"

"Aw, shut that cock trap of yours, Lemon," the President bellowed. "You're acting like I ain't ever been to an event like this before."

"Yes, sir. But in fairness, you really haven't --"

"There you go again, flapping that damn cocktrap of yours. Listen Lemon... hey, where did that slut get to anyhow?"

Mr. Lemon sighed long and hard.

"Son of a bitch," the President mused out loud, "I wonder if she's in the bathroom pleasuring herself..."

"Mr. President," Lemon started, "please, I --" but the president again uninterrupted him, waxing philosophical.

"Well, I'll be. That diplomat from Georgia is a God-damned whore. I like her."